Chapter 140

It was a nightmare. Magical blasts flew in every direction. Swords cut down without discrimination. Her abdominal wound burned with pain, her body was weak, she couldn’t dodge anything. Standing there was as good as suicide.
She clutched her stomach, hands soaked in blood, crying out: “Help...someone...please help me…”
At first she still tried to keep the composure of the Demon Lord’s official wife. But no one paid attention. People rushed past, fighting and fleeing. No one looked at her. Her voice cracked.
“Please! I’m begging you...Demon Lord! High Priest! Demon King…”
She called for everyone who had ever stood beside her. But no one answered. Someone crashed into her, and she fell, slamming straight onto her wound. The pain was so intense, she nearly passed out.
Lying face down in the dirt, Yun Menghan stared upward at the chaos, spells raining from the sky, weapons flashing in the smoke. It all felt like a dream. A cruel, absurd dream.
At the heart of the battlefield, two beams of power clashed. Luo Han stood bathed in golden light, facing off against the black mist that glowed red. It was obvious at a glance, they were both incredibly powerful. The closer the ring to them, the stronger the combatants.
Ling Qingxiao wielded his sword like a god of death, each slash swept through entire crowds. He quickly shook off Ye Zhongyu and flew straight toward the Forbidden Soul. Ye Zhongyu was no match. Ling Qingxiao’s real target had always been the ancient curse itself.
A two-against-one fight might be unfair, but Ling Qingxiao didn’t care about honor. He only cared about victory. Ye Zhongyu tried to follow, but the Star Lord Tianyu intercepted him.
All around, the war split into rivalries, old enemies locked in life-or-death battles, no longer caring about the war as a whole. Further out, the lesser soldiers fought in close quarters, blades, fists, brute strength. Kill one to break even, kill two for profit.
And Yun Menghan lay among them, watching it all. She saw Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao fighting at the center, working in perfect sync against a power that could destroy the world. She saw Ye Zhongyu radiating demonic fury, the Star Lord flashing with divine light, the Red Lotus Demon King tearing through enemies in beast form.
Everyone had some kind of survival skill. Everyone...except her. No cultivation. No treasure. No secret escape techniques. In the past, whenever she frowned, someone would rush to help. So she never realized how helpless she truly was.
But now, thrown into real danger, she finally understood: She had nothing. Bleeding. Trapped. Too weak to fight back. Too weak even to crawl away. Her voice was hoarse, but no one listened.
Despair swallowed her. Was this how she would die? Bleeding out on the battlefield, humiliated and alone? She didn’t even know if her wound would kill her first or if a stray spell would do it faster.
She finally understood what it meant to be powerless. To be a lamb to the slaughter. All those men who once swore they loved her…Where were they now? They were close, she could see them. But none came to help.
Their love was a fantasy. A beautiful lie. Even with all those men who “loved” her, when death truly came, she was alone. She had lived in an illusion. Thinking she was cherished. Thinking she was special. But the truth was...she had always been on her own.
Meanwhile, the High Priest of the Witch Tribe stepped out and was instantly caught in the chaos. He didn’t know what was happening, only that he had to defend himself. He kept to the edges of the battlefield—and suddenly spotted a familiar figure.
“Yun Menghan?!”
He rushed toward her, dodging through the fighting, and crouched beside her. He reached out, trying to lift her. She whimpered in pain. Only then did the High Priest realize—she was wounded. And badly.
Her blood had stained the earth beneath her. He was shocked. He quickly formed a protective barrier to shield her from flying spells and crouched down to check her injury.
“How did this happen? Who did this to you?”
As a master of medicine, he saw immediately: she’d been stabbed, with a dagger. Not some random battlefield wound, someone had deliberately attacked her.
Yun Menghan looked at the High Priest. Her lips trembled, and a tear suddenly fell from the corner of her eye. In this moment between life and death, the only one who came to save her was the person she had known for the shortest time, the Witch Tribe's High Priest.
Yet he, more than anyone, had every reason to hate her. Her wounds were severe, and the battlefield was no place to linger. The High Priest tried to pick her up and carry her to safety. As he approached, he heard Yun Menghan whisper with great effort:
“I’m...sorry…”
The High Priest frowned in confusion. Why was she apologizing? There was no time to think. He shouted, “Don’t speak! Save your strength. I’ll take you somewhere safe to heal.”
Yun Menghan no longer had the energy to say more. But even in her final breaths, she wanted to tell the truth:
How she had fled the Witch Village in panic and hadn’t erased her tracks. How, once Ye Zhongyu took her in, she returned to a pampered life and carelessly, thoughtlessly, revealed the existence of the Witch Tribe. She had wanted, with her own lips, to tell him she was sorry.
But before she could say anything more, a deafening explosion erupted behind them. Ye Zhongyu and Ling Qingxiao were still battling, and the blast reached them. A tiny shard of debris shot straight into Yun Menghan’s back, piercing her heart.
Her words stopped. The High Priest noticed her pale face and checked her again, only to see a pool of blood covering his hands.
“Miss Yun, what’s wrong? Stay with me! I’ll save you!”
But Yun Menghan knew the truth. Her natural healing ability was already depleted. The shard had struck her heart. Not even a god could save her now.
She tried to speak again, but only her lips moved, no sound came out. Her vision spun, and in her pain, everything became clear. She finally understood why Ye Zhongyu told her to wait until tomorrow.
Why no guards had been posted tonight, why Su Yinyue entered so easily, why no one responded to her screams. She finally understood what Su Yinyue had meant: She never truly knew Ye Zhongyu.
They had shared the same bed for so long, she should have known his aura better than anyone. The wound seemed like a stray blast from his battle with Ling Qingxiao, but she knew. The force that had pierced her heart, it was Ye Zhongyu’s demonic energy. So that was it. The one who truly wanted her dead…was her husband.
Yun Menghan began to laugh. Blood poured from her mouth, choking her, mixing with her tears. The High Priest was still desperately trying to save her, sealing pressure points, holding her tightly, searching for some life-saving remedy.
But before she passed, her head slipped from his arms. And from that upside-down perspective, she saw Ye Zhongyu glance in their direction, coldly, faintly displeased. He wasn’t worried. He was just annoyed.
Probably because Luo Han had the upper hand, and the High Priest, one of the few who knew the truth about the divine artifact was wasting time trying to save her. Yun Menghan had no more strength. She closed her eyes for the last time.
The Witch Tribe High Priest used every method he knew to save her. But she never woke again. When he finally regained awareness of the outside world...it was the seventh day.
The Calamity Purging Vessel could dissolve all life within seven days, even gods. The High Priest staggered to his feet, dazed. He left Yun Menghan’s body behind and wandered toward the battlefield.
He had spent seven days trying to save her. And in those same seven days the war between immortals and demons had never stopped. He looked terrible. But his mind was frighteningly calm.
Yun Menghan’s final words had been “I’m sorry.” Who had she wronged? Who was she apologizing to?
The original camp had been reduced to rubble. The entire battlefield, within a thousand miles was scorched earth. Luo Han and the Forbidden Soul had fought for seven days straight.
Just one more day and the purified waters within the Calamity Purging Vessel would completely destroy the Forbidden Soul. The slender bottle floated in midair, its mouth locked tightly onto the Forbidden Soul. No matter where he moved, Luo Han followed.
The demon side never stopped attacking her, either. It was now a war of attrition. Whoever could endure the longest—would win. Victory meant dominance. Defeat meant total ruin.
As the darkest hour before dawn approached, both sides became desperate. Sensing the end, the Forbidden Soul fought back with ferocity, wild and unrestrained. Luo Han had reached her limits. But she couldn’t stop. This wasn’t just about her, it was about everyone behind her. If she failed, countless would die.
She gritted her teeth, ignoring the backlash of her injuries, and poured every drop of her divine power into the Calamity Purging Vessel. It shone even more brightly. Ling Qingxiao felt the shift in energy. With a sharp cry, he finished off his opponent and flashed back to Luo Han’s side.
When he saw how pale her face was, his expression changed.
“What are you doing?!”
“There’s no other way,” Luo Han gasped. “This time...he must die. I can’t leave any chance for him to survive.”
Seven days without rest. She was on the verge of collapse. Yet her lips were still red with resolve. Ling Qingxiao said nothing more.
The Nine Heavens Sword sang sharply. He drew it, and with one swing, unleashed his full power, all of it toward the Forbidden Soul.
If the Forbidden Soul had still been a proper god, this battle might not have been so difficult. But he had already died once. And in the long centuries afterward, he had accumulated a terrifying amount of resentment.
Even ordinary vengeful ghosts were hard to deal with, how much more dangerous was one born from a god’s grudge? Luo Han and Ling Qingxiao joined forces to fight him, while others could only act as human barriers, keeping the demon army from breaking through.
The Forbidden Soul writhed in agony. His piercing scream echoed through the skies, sending shockwaves of fear rippling across all six realms. Luo Han’s divine power and Ling Qingxiao’s ice spiritual energy shattered all the surrounding stone. Immediately after, the ground froze over, not a blade of grass remained.
Sword aura clashed violently with the Forbidden Soul’s killing intent, tearing deep gouges across the earth. The land itself began to crack open, fine lines like tortoise shell at first, then spreading rapidly into gaping fissures. It felt like the end of the world.
Ye Zhongyu, seeing that the seventh day was nearly upon them, grew increasingly anxious. He rallied the remaining demon forces into a desperate charge, all of them pushing toward one point with suicidal fury. Their sole objective: break through the celestial defensive ring and strike Luo Han, who was now most vulnerable, having poured all her strength into restraining the Forbidden Soul.
The demons surged like a black tide, like crazed ants that had lost their minds. Ye Zhongyu slit a celestial soldier's throat, wiped the blood from his face, and bellowed:
“Keep pushing forward! Anyone who dares fall back will be slain by those behind!”
Just as he prepared to re-enter the fray, he sensed someone approaching. Turning back, he saw the Witch Tribe’s High Priest, eyes vacant, moving like a walking corpse.
“High Priest, you’ve finally arrived,” Ye Zhongyu said with relief, though his blade never wavered. “You saw it too, Ling Qingxiao accidentally killed Yun Menghan. Come, let’s avenge her together.”
The High Priest stood there, unmoving, staring at Ye Zhongyu like a puppet.
Ye Zhongyu tried to steer the topic: “The divine artifact has fallen into evil hands. We must stop them from abusing Nuwa’s creation. Tell me, how do we counter it?”
“Was it you?”
Ye Zhongyu paused. “Now isn’t the time, let’s handle the artifact first”
“The one who killed Yun Menghan...was it you?”
At the mention of that name, Ye Zhongyu fell silent. The High Priest let out a broken smile at himself. He had been a fool. The world’s greatest joke.
“Was it you...who slaughtered the entire Witch Tribe?”
The High Priest might not be worldly, but he wasn’t stupid. He remembered how Yun Menghan had whispered “sorry,” how she tried to say something before a ‘stray’ shard pierced her heart. Her wounds, the heavens’ warnings, her hesitation, it all pointed to the truth.
Ye Zhongyu. It had always been him.
The one who destroyed his clan, used him like a pawn, and now sought to trick him into revealing the divine artifact’s weakness. And the High Priest, he had begged his people's killer for help. Pathetic. Laughable. Tragic.
He looked to the sky. This war had gone on too long. The ground cracked, the skies faltered, it was the end of an age. Suddenly, he understood the ancient prayers his master once made him memorize. Sacrifice always accompanies divine favor.
To ask the heavens for mercy, to protect the people, one must offer a life in exchange. The oldest rituals had always demanded a living sacrifice. He had made many mistakes. Now, with his final act, he would do the only thing that was right. He drew his blade...and began the ritual dance. An ancient, sacred rite. Few had seen it in millennia.
Ye Zhongyu thought he had gone mad, babbling, dancing with his weapon. He stayed wary of an ambush, but he didn’t expect the High Priest to suddenly slit his own throat. Blood gushed, but the High Priest ignored it. He clasped his hands together and chanted:
“Earthly Sovereign above, your unworthy descendant seeks penance. I know my sins are deep. Today I offer myself, my body, my blood, my soul to seal away evil. Let me be shattered, let me be dust. Never to reincarnate. In exchange, let the six realms know peace.”
Only blood could fuel such a sealing. He gave everything: his Nuwa-lineage blood, his divine soul, his life. The Calamity Purging Vessel, a relic of Nuwa herself, responded to the sacrifice. Its light blazed brighter and brighter. At its peak, the High Priest’s body crumbled to ash—no flesh left, not even bones.
His enemy stood right before him...yet the High Priest had chosen to sacrifice himself for peace, to save innocents. This war had to end. With that, the artifact surged, forcing the Forbidden Soul into retreat. He screamed, harsh, echoing shrieks like thousands of ghosts.
Luo Han braced herself, forcing every ounce of power into the artifact. Her skin erupted in goosebumps from the sound, but she didn’t flinch. The Forbidden Soul twisted wildly, his form warping as he resisted being sealed. Just before his final strand was sucked in, he morphed into a grinning face.
“You can’t kill me...not unless you kill him.”
His laughter warped and piercing, made Luo Han’s blood run cold. She gritted her teeth and forced him down. The face vanished. She slammed the bottle shut.
Now, she only needed to wait for the sacred water within to dissolve the soul completely. It was over. They had won. But Luo Han couldn't smile. That final look the Forbidden Soul gave her, she couldn’t shake it. And then she collapsed.
Ling Qingxiao caught her immediately. She had fainted, completely unconscious. He checked her pulse, frowned, and swiftly lifted her in his arms.
The other celestial lords, bloodied and weary, called out, “Your Majesty”
“She’s gravely injured. She needs rest. I leave the rest to you.”
The Forbidden Soul was sealed. The demons were broken. Ye Zhongyu and the Red Lotus Demon King? Ling Qingxiao didn’t care anymore. Luo Han was hurt. And there was nothing more important in the world than her healing.
—
Luo Han dreamed. A long, unsettled dream.
She walked endlessly through darkness. Ghostly faces twisted and snarled beside her. Sinister laughter echoed in her ears. At the end of the path, a silhouette appeared.
The figure wore white robes. That silhouette...it was achingly familiar to Luo Han. She tried to catch up, but just as she neared, the person vanished only to reappear farther away.
She chased and chased, and when she finally caught up, she suddenly realized there was a knife in her hand, stabbed straight into the person’s chest. Luo Han jolted awake in terror.
The two celestial maids nearby were startled and immediately dropped to one knee by the bed.
“May the Heavenly Dao forgive us!”
Luo Han stared at the elegant, fairy-like women before her, then at the tasteful, dignified furnishings on either side. For a moment, she couldn’t figure out where she was.
“Who are you? Where is this place?”
Before the maids could reply, a voice came from behind the curtains:
“Leave us.”
The moment they heard that voice, all the celestial maids tensed. They dared not disobey. They bowed to Luo Han and quietly filed out one by one without making a sound, not even disturbing the rising incense smoke.
Ling Qingxiao stepped forward and sat at her bedside, placing a hand on her forehead.
“Much better. Do you feel any discomfort?”
His movements were calm and practiced, as if he’d done this many times before. Luo Han had just woken from a haunting dream and now saw Ling Qingxiao before her. She was stunned.
He brought over a bowl of medicine, checked the temperature, and when he looked up to find Luo Han staring at him, his heart was filled with ache and relief.
“It’s all right now. It’s over. The great war has ended. The demons were utterly defeated. Just a few days ago, they even sent us a letter requesting peace.”
“The Calamity Purging Vessel?” Luo Han asked.
“Right here.” Ling Qingxiao held out his hand, and the slender little bottle appeared in his palm.
Luo Han took it and gently rubbed its surface. She could tell it was now completely empty.
The Forbidden Soul. The demon god. Gone.
Ling Qingxiao saw that she still seemed dazed, so he placed the bowl on the table, then gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders, his other hand lightly stroking her back.
“It’s over. Don’t worry. I’m here.”